


Sweet hours have perished here

by endorsea



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Based on A ghost story (2017), Character Death, Death, Ghosts, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Time Loop, Unspecified Setting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:14:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26342446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/endorsea/pseuds/endorsea
Summary: Bokuto died from a fatal car crash right in front of the house he and Akaashi just moved in four months ago.After his death, his spirit, or what is left of him, lingers on through the unforgiving and endless passage of time.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou
Comments: 8
Kudos: 31
Collections: Bokuaka Week 2020





	Sweet hours have perished here

**Author's Note:**

> This work is inspired by A Ghost Story (2017). Please check it out, it's a really great movie!

  


“Sweet hours have perished here;  
This is a mighty room;  
Within its precincts hopes have played,—  
Now shadows in the tomb.”

**_The Collected Poems of Emily Dickinsons_ **  
****

\---

The last things he registered in his physical body, nanoseconds before his instant death, were the glass shattering, mangled metal, and the crackle of his skull. Then everything went black.

However, it wasn't the end. His ghost still remains and stays rooted to the property where Bokuto lived and met his demise, lingering like a perpetual chill in the winter air.

\---

Now, the ghost is standing in the living room, watching Akaashi - the spouse of Bokuto Koutarou - sitting on the sofa, his eyes boring into the wall. Nothing can be heard apart from the brisk winds outside the window and the rhythmic ticking of the wall clock. It has been two weeks since Bokuto's passing, and like usual, the ghost just stands there, staring at Akaashi's parched skin, sunken cheeks and hollowed eyes. A part of it wants to reach out to the man across the room. If it were Bokuto, in his flesh and bones, it would immediately leap to Akaashi's side, embrace him into its arms, placing kisses, whisper things to make everything okay again.

But it can't, and nothing is okay. It's no longer Bokuto. Bokuto is already dead. It's nothing more than a void. A bleary existence that is unheard, unfelt, unseen, dwelling on a life that has already expired.

\---

Akashi may not be doing well, but he's doing better nonetheless. Lately, he has started eating more regularly and occasionally will step out of the house.

When the tragedy struck, Akaashi took a bereavement leave from work. He would spend quiet hours around the house, touching every furniture, listening to every song both used to enjoy. To the ghost, those songs are like muffled sounds, bereft of any tune and melody. It wonders what those songs sound like to Akaashi's ears.

On some days, Akaashi will spend a whole evening sitting on the bed they once shared, absently staring into nothingness for hours, wearing silence like a heavy cloth. His hand will clutch the sheet tightly, and later, the ghost will watch as he drifts off to a restless sleep on Bokuto's side of the bed.

Sometimes, it seems like Akaashi is trying to relive every moment when they were together, when Bokuto's presence is everywhere around the house, loud, rambunctious, and _alive_. 

There are moments when trembling noises can be heard along the howling winds, rattling through the window pane.

The ghost hates those sounds.

\---

It cannot move on yet, because neither can Akaashi.

But perhaps someday, someday they will.

\---

_When Akaashi and Bokuto were together, Akaashi had a habit of writing secret notes to Bokuto and sticking them in every part of the house, sometimes in the most inconspicuous corners. It's a way for him to convey his feelings, since Akaashi was never good at expressing himself verbally._

_Bokuto loved finding them as much as he loved reading them._

\---

Three months have passed. The ghost never stops observing as Akaashi resumes his daily routines, gets back to his job and reaches out to his family and acquaintances again. He is slowly adjusting to a life without Bokuto, although he still has trouble sleeping at night, and there's still a sense of lethargy in his every movement.

But he is healing. These days, he can quietly listen to Bokuto's favorite songs and take a look at Bokuto's favorite book with a ghost of a smile on his lips. It seems lopsided, yet genuine. A smile that means he has come to grips with the unconsolable reality.

If the ghost were a sentient being, it would feel happy for Akaashi. After all, this is the man that Bokuto Koutarou loved dearly during his lifetime. Unfortunately, Bokuto's feelings and emotions were buried six feet under, along with Bokuto's body, four months ago. What's left is just a lingering consciousness that can still reminisce, perceive, hear and see things, but can no longer _feel_.

Every day, the ghost does nothing but hovering around the front porch, wandering past the rooms and silently watching Akaashi carrying out his day without fail.

It supposes its time is almost up. If one day Akaashi moves on, maybe the ghost can finally be set free.

\---

In late evenings, the ghost usually sits on the sofa, waiting for Akaashi to get home from work.

When the door clicks, the ghost will turn around and be greeted with Akaashi's slender figure.

It will get up, somewhat keenly, akin to a gesture of welcoming a loved one home.

And Akaashi will sometimes whisper "I'm home", but all Akaashi gets in return is the faint echoes of his own voice.

\---

When the ghost enters their house after roaming mindlessly around the property one morning, it spots Akaashi at the kitchen counter, who is about to get up off the floor. It looks like he's been searching for something. And then, it notices the glass jar of colorful paper pieces on the floor nearby. Those are all the notes Akaashi had written to Bokuto, nearly up to three hundred, all of which are now folded and contained neatly in the jar.

At this moment, it realizes that Akaashi has taken down all of their notes scattered around the house: on the kitchen top, fridge door, bookshelves, cabinets.

And the next thing it knows, Akaashi is moving out. Because now, all of the furniture has been seized from the place, leaving it colder and emptier than it already was.

\---

Akaashi is standing at the front yard, eyes gazing at the house with an unreadable expression. The ghost is in front of him, close enough that it can feel Akaashi's silent, ragged breaths. There's a sudden urge within it to reach out and caress Akaashi's pale cheeks.

So it does.

It feels nothing more than a gentle breeze.

Akaashi then closes his eyes, adjusts the backpack on his shoulders and turns away, heading towards the car. The ghost watches his back in silence. Akaashi starts the engine, looking back through the rear view mirror one last time before driving away, disappearing into the distance.

And just like that he's gone. Without a trace, taking everything with him.

Akaashi is gone. And instead of dissipating away, the ghost still remains here. Lleft alone in the empty, cold, _cold_ house.

\---

_After dating for three years, Bokuto and Akaashi decided to tie the knot. Shortly after, they applied for a mortgage and looked for a house where they could start their life anew._

_After searching on countless websites, Bokuto managed to pick out a quaint and affordable bungalow with two bedrooms in the suburb. The neighborhood was said to be quiet and peaceful._

_On their moving day, Bokuto kept fidgeting in excitement when they were on the way to their new home, to the point where Akaashi had to reprimand him, "Koutarou, keep your eyes on the road, please."_

_When they arrived, he eagerly volunteered to do almost everything, from moving in the furniture, arranging books on the shelves to doing the mopping until the place was completely spotless. Akaashi of course would try to help whenever he could, but with Bokuto's ridiculous enthusiasm, he couldn't do anything more than unpacking some of their belongings and putting up a fresh, mint green wallpaper for the living room - which is Bokuto's favorite color._

_It took them a total of two days and a half to make this place feel like home. When the last piece of furniture was put into place, they sprawled out on the wooden floor, looked at each other and grinned widely._

_From now on, this place would be there home, their safe haven, their kingdom come. It felt unbelievably real that they have a life, a house, and a family now. They couldn't wait to see what the future held._

\---

The ghost is standing in the middle of the huge, vacant living room. There are specks of motes swirling in the ray of sunlight emitted from the stained window - the only things that are moving in the stagnant, silent air.

The ghost always exists without a clear sense of purpose. But this is the first time it feels utterly lost, being left in an empty house, _without Akaashi here_ , yet it cannot leave.

Why is it still here, even when Akaashi has already moved on?

The ghost stands in the quiet living room and ponders, until the evening light dies away and darkness slowly seeps into every corner of the house.

\---

New tenants arrived at the bungalow: a couple with one daughter, their eyes beaming with hope and excitement. The ghost looks at them and thinks, _how familiar._

It witnesses as the new family moves in, unpacks everything, and takes up residence in the house.

It watches as they gather around the table, share laughters, dish out kisses and hugs and celebrate holidays and bask in their own bliss. Were it Bokuto, it would be bitter and envious. Envious of not having what this family has. Of not having what Bokuto and Akaashi could have had in its previous life.

He didn't deserve it. Neither of them deserve it. And looking at the family reminds the ghost of how unfair it all is.

The lights suddenly flicker furiously, and there are books falling (thrown) to the floor, dishes from the cupboard smashed and shattered on the ground. The family, who are in the middle of their dinner, widen their eyes and immediately get up to investigate. When they see no signs of intrusion or pranks whatsoever, the fear on their face is apparent.

Seeing the terror in those eyes pleases the ghost. If it knows what _pleasure_ even feels like.

A month later, the ghost is once again left alone in its dwelling.

\---

The house has welcomed different footsteps from different owners, held many laughters and tears and stories.

But everyone comes and goes. Wallpapers, carpets and curtains in the house change over time, with varying patterns and materials. Over the years, the pleasant smell of wooden flooring has turned musty and damp due to old age.

Nothing lasts forever. Apart from one thing.

\---

The ghost has forgotten the concept of time. Calendars and clocks no longer hold any meaning to it.

It doesn't know, or simply doesn't care how many months have passed, how many seasons have gone by.

It is still bound to the property, aimlessly looking for an answer, for a kind of justification.

\---

_"What is special about this house that you like so much?" Akaashi asked one day when Bokuto was diligently plastering and painting the chipped window frame in their kitchen._

_"When I first looked at it, I could immediately imagine a life with you here." Bokuto turned around, and said, his face covered with white paste and a huge grin._

\---

At the turn of the century, the area has suffered from a severe economic recession. Unemployment rate is up the roof while crimes reign over the once lovely and secure neighborhood, leaving many residences in a state of decay.

The house no longer bears any resemblance to the charm it used to possess. Instead, the place has given up to cobwebs and dust, permeated by musty air. It is on the verge of decrepitude, the floorboards untrodden, the ceiling damaged from water leaks, and there are ghostly silhouettes embedded on the walls, reminding of what used to be.

The ghost has witnessed many things over the years. From gang fights, robbery to murders. People marking their arrival and taking their leave. Police sirens and distant protests.

The area tried its best to survive, but eventually succumbed to the devastating destruction of poverty. Nothing can endure the merciless lapse of time. Except _it._

_\---_

Once in a while, the ghost thinks about Akaashi. It wonders if Akaashi had managed to move on entirely, and found someone else to settle down with, to be happy again, to live a good life.

But if Akaashi had moved on, then why hasn't it? Why is it still stuck in this purgatorial state of existence? A clinging and pointless presence that can easily push the sanest man to the brink of madness.

If it were a living human with a state of mind, it would kill itself again and again and again, just to end it once and for all.

Its body was laid to rest a long, long time ago, _so what is it still doing here?_

What is it about this house that still holds it back?

There's nothing left.

Bokuto's hopes and dreams. Gone.

Akaashi. His bright smile, curly locks, his warmth, his love notes, the nightly touches, their future, their house. Gone. Everything is gone. _Gone. Gone. Gone._

They were all destroyed in that destined car crash a long time ago.

And again, how many months have passed? How many years? Centuries?

Is the name Bokuto Koutarou still remembered by anyone? Mourned by anyone? Uttered by anyone?

Does the name even exist in this world?

Did Akaashi forget about him?

It has no clue anymore.

_\---_

_Sometimes, Bokuto would occasionally find random notes in one of his shoes, in the front pocket of his sweater, or at the corner of his windshield. They are written in neat letters, typical of Akaashi's character. Bokuto couldn't help a smile, recalling the day he received the same kind of note, which was the start of their lasting relationship. It was before both of them had graduated from high school. He found it under his desk after class had ended, and realized it was from a guy one year his junior, who happened to be his teammate in the volleyball club. Whom he also happened to have a crush on._

_Later that afternoon, he stormed into the gym and announced loudly "Akaashi, I got your note! I really like you too!" in front of every member of the team. It was abrupt, stupid, and awkward. Akaashi looked like he was about to die from embarrassment._

_But Bokuto was glad that everything went well._

_From that day, sneaking notes at school was one of Akaashi's favorite thing to do. Bokuto found it adorable, and in a way, it kinda spiced up their relationship._

_And even until their marriage, that habit persisted._

\---

Recent years, the government has attempted to gentrify and recover the deprived area. Many houses in the neighborhood have been demolished to replace with high-rise and industrial buildings. 

These days, it spends most of the time observing the construction sites from afar, watching the place that used to be poor and desolate now gradually shows signs of a bustling, industrialized city in the future.

Soon, the two-bedroom bungalow will eventually be torn down like the rest, get transformed into something new, modern, unrecognizable, holding no remnants from the past.

\---

The ghost is standing on top of a forty-story building before closing its eyes and jumps.

There's no landing, no impact, no pain followed. Nothing.

What does it expect anyways?

When it opens its eyes again, it's back in the too familiar well-lit house. The walls are decorated with a fresh, minty wallpaper. The sunlight is seeping through the opened window.

The next thing it sees is Akaashi crawling beside the kitchen cupboard. It's been a long time since the ghost saw his face. Pale skin, hooded eyes, soft lips. Memories have become murky, even for a ghost without the memory limit of a human.

Akaashi is slipping a piece of note into a crack on the wall, behind the kitchen counter. The crack is wide enough for the note to fit, nevertheless, it is still unnoticeable if one doesn't pay close attention. Next to him lies the jar containing hundred of folded notes.

_This is before the day Akaashi moving out, after leaving behind his last note for Bokuto._

In that moment of clarity, the ghost's vision turns white.

And then, it finds itself back to the dingy living room with chipped walls and cracked windows. The sun is shining outside, the sky is a beautiful azure blue, there are occasional breezes slipping through the house, fresh and cool. _A type of weather Akaashi is fond of,_ it suddenly thinks for no reason.

The ghost then carries itself into the kitchen, finding each step harder and heavier. There is deadly silence ringing into its ears. It slowly approaches the inconspicuous crack next to the counter, before benching down and notices the tiny edge of the note that juts out.

Once having retrieved the paper, which somehow still remains intact after all these years, the ghost feels like its hands are trembling, but perhaps it's just an illusion. A trick of the mind. _Mind?_

_Ghosts cannot know fear. It must be an illusion._

When the note is unfolded and he finally gets to read it, everything flashes blindly behind Bokuto's eyelids. In a way that a person who is facing death might experience, but it feels more like salvation, tastes more like clarity.

He sees himself, at the beginning of life, at the end of everything.

He sees Akaashi in between, decades ago, blushing and smiling, both of them lying on the floorboards and talking about future dreams that never came.

In a split second, it feels as if he's alive again, clothed in a human body he's been longing for.

 _It's time to let go now,_ he thinks to himself.

Then Bokuto vanishes into the air, without a trace.

(But if someone listens closely, a sigh of relief can be heard followed by his departure, echoing through the old, abandoned kitchen walls.)

And then, nothing.


End file.
